Centuries Gone
by Rose Hunter
Summary: 582 years it's been since her death and the pain it caused is still alive, the nightmares still come and though it's long been forgiven it was England who set her ablaze.


**A one-shot from France's point of view about the anniversary of Jeanne of Arc's death, how he is dealing and how Arthur is trying to fix the past. I hope you like it! Rated T for the execution description. **

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Ash is choking me, clogging my throat and stinging my eyes. I'm not sure when I fell to my knees but I can barely feel the ground under me anyway. She's already stopped screaming but I can still hear it. I try to force myself to look but all I can see is him, standing beside the pyre where her charred bones still crackle in the flames…

Blue eyes flash open and I find myself laying on my bed, staring at the white ceiling. It's the 21st century, and it has been so long since her death, but I still see it in my dreams.

I shake the thoughts from my head and go through my usual morning routine. Dress, hair, freshen up, and head onto the balcony. Something along the way there, though, reminds me of the thoughts I have been trying to forget. An old flag, hanging in the hallway, one I've kept since 1431. Its the very flag Jeanne d'Arc once saluted, just before she was captured, and finally burned at the stake by the English. I was there, and I watched her, a woman so young and full of bravery and hope, become engulfed in fire.

Making myself turn away from its aging cloth, I carry onward down the corridor out onto the balcony overlooking the great city of Paris. For a moment I take it in, soak it up. Paris is my heart. It is here I have seen the best of my people growing, laughing, crying and inevitably passing away. I love them all. They're what makes my soul; my very existence is owed to their strength and passion. When I close my eyes I can see through theirs, if I want. But I try not to. I don't want to get attached to them anymore. I've learned that lesson once, and thus a thousand times, that when you fall in love with someone who can die, they will do so before their time and take your happiness with them.

And looking out at my city, its old buildings standing there so strongly in the morning sunlight, I cannot help but remember all that has been. They once said I would be so powerful, so strong that the whole world would speak the language of my people. I thought that, too. But I should have known that time never passes the way people plan it to. That knowledge would have kept me from the crippling disappointment in myself when I became who I am today. Powerful, yes, but always in the shadow of the man who murdered my love. France is full of emotion and beauty but England stood, and stands, for power and ambition. And in the eyes of the rest of the world I can never be equal to a man so powerful. All the glory of Paris means nothing when the English can so easily take its light away.

"Monsieur Bonnefoy?" My maid says quietly, stepping gently out onto the balcony. "Do you want something for breakfast?"

"Non…"

She's about to leave, but asks, "Are you alright?"

"I…" I trail off. Jeanne had been nineteen when she was killed. Youth is meant to be a time of joy and blossoming life, but instead she had thrown everything away, all for me. She was too young…

"Monsieur Bonnefoy?"

"I'm fine," I say, turning to beam at the maid. I know its convincing. I've worn this faux smile much more than I would like to say; I just hope she doesn't see the tears in my eyes. "Why don't you take the day off?"

"I- really?" She blinked.

"Oui," I smile. "I'm just going to have lunch with an old friend. There isn't anything in particular that I need, nothing I can't do. And everyone needs a day to themselves every once in awhile."

"Merci, monsieur," She says, smiling, before heading away.

At noon I finally take a deep breath and leave my home, taking a cab down to a small cafe just a few blocks away from the Eiffel Tower. Its a small building shrouded in vines, images of people scurrying and laughing in the streets reflecting off its tinted windows. Chimes ring as I open the door and the scent of freshly-baked bread wafts towards me. I scan the people sitting crowded around small black tables drinking coffee, until I spot the man I'm looking for, sitting in the back reading a paper and sipping tea.

"Bonjour, Angleterre," I smile as I sit down in the seat across from him.

"Hello, frog," He says, not looking up from his paper.

"Come now, Arthur, you're the one that invited me here, at least pay me attention." I say.

"Alright," He sighs, setting down his paper. The London Times, naturally. He looks up at me with a cynical expression. "Not sleeping well?"

"You could say that…" I nod, reminded of the dream once again. I don't want to think about it, especially not now that I am sitting across from England. I've forgiven him for her execution, it would be ridiculous to hold it against him after all this time, but his eyes look the same as they did the day she died.

"Are you alright?"

"Hm?" I say, pulling myself out of my thoughts. I smile. "Ah, its funny, you're the second person who has asked me that today. I'm just a bit distracted, it seems."

"It's because of what day it is, isn't it?"

"What are you referring to, Angleterre?"

"Stop it, France, I know you know what day it is." He says. "May 20th. The day Jeanne was executed."

"Oh… yes. Yes, I know." I nod, my stomach twisting. I should have known this is why he called me here, a cafe in my own country on _this _day, but I had thought he'd long forgotten that transgression. "I know very well."

He nods. "I wanted to tell you I really am sorry for… what happened. I fully regret it, I really do. I underestimated how much she meant to you, and even though we were enemies at the time, had I known… I wouldn't have done as I did. And if I could go back and change it, I would do so without hesitating."

"I know," I say softly, closing my eyes. I smile weakly. "I think there's a lot of stuff we would both do differently if we could relive that time, non?"

He nods again. "I think its best for us to both try to forget all that happened back then."

"I don't want to forget," I say, staring at my hands folded on the table, though my thoughts are lost in the memory of her. Her loyalty, her confidence, her strength… she stood for everything I once was. I'm afraid I feel as if I've fallen from that now. "I don't think I could forget if I wanted to… I will miss her for as long as I last, there is no changing that."

"And I caused it…" Arthur lets out a deep intake of breath, furrowing his brow and looking away.

"Non. She wasn't like us. You know that. She would have died anyhow, you just shortened the time it took. It was my own fault, throwing my love out to anyone who… anyone who stood beside me like that. Its rare for someone to be there for me simply from love, simply because they wanted to. She was a girl born into a poor family, she didn't have any reason to do that for me. I'd given her nothing… But, non, like I said. It's not your fault, Angleterre, it's my own." Normally I wouldn't admit to things like this, especially to England of all people, but its different now. I've held this in too long.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before he says, "We've always been terrible to each other, haven't we, frog?"

"Ah, but indeed we have," I smile.

"Hey, France?"

"Oui?"

"Don't stop loving people just because of what happened with Joan." He says, looking me in the eyes. "The way you care about people… its just not something many of us can do. We're bitter and we're broken and we're cold. We've lost too much, and so have you, but somehow you've always kept what makes you human alive. Don't lose it now, all because of a memory."

I stare at him for a moment. And I make myself look at him, who he is now and now alone, not who he once was staring in the light of the flames. He's changed. He looks sadder, wiser, and I realize I'm not the only one who's fallen from what I once was. "I won't, Angleterre. I promise… I promise."


End file.
